


Glass and Shadows

by soupmetaphors



Category: BioShock
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupmetaphors/pseuds/soupmetaphors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sundance Kole is a violinist with no plans beyond making ends meet. When she's pulled into a plan that may as well bring ruin not just to her but Rapture itself, she must learn to survive and adapt, and maybe just cling onto the hope of seeing the sun one last time. </p><p>After all, in a city fast becoming nothing but glass and shadows, there's nothing left to do but push onward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_Rapture, 1957_ **

The audience stared at her, a hushed silence falling over them. It wasn’t attentive silence, the type she’d become so accustomed to. It was _horrified._ It was _anticipated_ : Eager to see what she would do, how she would react to such a situation.

And Sundance Kole just stood there, frozen, one hand holding her bow, the other holding the violin. Her gaze was fixed on the instrument.

Two of the strings had snapped- A sudden occurrence which had stopped her in mid-performance, had brought her up short. 

Her first thought: _Oh,_ fuck.

Her second: _Cohen’s going to_ murder _me._

Taking a deep breath, she lowered her hands to her sides, letting her gaze sweep across the audience. For a moment, it flicked up towards the balcony. She saw him standing there, impassively, arms folded, a scowl written clear as crystal on his face. There was hell to be paid for disrupting such an enchanting evening.

So she tried to put on her best smile, mouth already working out the magic words. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, it seems like I’m all outta luck this evenin’. Have yourselves a good day and enjoy the rest of the performances.”

The audience clapped, and she could hear the hesitance behind their actions. Giving them a cheery wave, she walked rather calmly offstage, disappearing behind the heavy backdrop curtains.

Performers were everywhere: Struggling into costumes, practicing routines and instruments, or just loitering around. Several of them looked at her and whispered among themselves, but she said nothing. She already knew what they were saying- She just hoped she was moving quick enough to get away _before_ it happened.

Vaulted over several crates lying in the middle of the path, nearly crashing into several dancers clad in black crowns and red shirts, picking up speed with each step.

“Kole!” someone called, and she turned to see one of the dancers hurrying up to her, holding out her violin case.

“Thanks, Valerie.” Quickly, she put her violin into the case, alongside the bow, snapping its latches shut.  

“You better hurry- He’s probably going to claw your face off.”

The fact spurred her to walk faster, almost _running_. All she had to do was lay low for a day or two, until Cohen’s good mood returned. And then she’d get up on stage like her little _accident_ never happened.

Easy enough.

Except for when she opened the door that led out of the hall, Sander Cohen himself was waiting for her.

“Miss Kole,” he started, as she stared at him, willing herself not to take a step back. Cohen’s moods swung wildly, like any artist, but even the _littlest_ things would push him off the edge.

(Then again, her strings snapping wasn’t a _little_ thing, as far as she was concerned.)

“Heya, Mr. Cohen,” she said, putting on a smile. “Sorry ‘bout that slip-up- Y’know how _forgetful_ we maestros can get, always forgettin’ to restring our bows, and-“

He raised his hand, and she threw her arms up just before the hit came. Cohen’s hand hit her case, and she could feel the _thump_ of it, the weight behind that gesture.

Lowered her case slowly, almost expecting another blow for no reason other than the fact she’d avoided the first one.

Cohen’s frown was like the face of an unsmiling god, accusing gaze drilling a hole into her soul. Felt the smile start to drip from her face, didn’t bother keeping the façade up when he spoke.

“If that happens one more time, _girl_ , I’ll make sure you’ll never play in Rapture again.”

“Yes, Mr. Cohen. I’m sorry. It won’t happen, I promise.” All pretense of games gone with the threat. She felt herself stand straighter, white-knuckle grip on her case. “I’ll go home and restring the bow right away, yessir-“

“Shut up!” he shouted, and despite herself, she flinched. “And get out of my sight. I don’t want you performing until I _personally_ come and tell you to.”

“But I’ve got a show on Saturday…” she began. Trailed off when she noticed the clench in his jaw, anger slowly working back up in his stance.

Instead, she locked a sigh inside her throat, slouched slightly as she squeezed pass Cohen and out the door. _Fuck you_ , she thought, dismayed. _Fuck you and your fuckin’ art._

There were _plenty_ of people who did nothing but leech off Fort Frolic’s profit- And _they_ didn’t bear the brunt of Cohen’s anger in any way. They barely were _noticed._ Maybe that was the problem, too.

The door slammed shut behind her, and she shot it a venomous look.

 _Fine._ She’d fuck off and play dead until the _fantastic_ Mr. Cohen came swooping in with a smile and a schedule all worked out for her. She hoped he would at _least_ pay this month. The last time he’d sent someone out, the poor fella hadn’t heard  from Cohen in _months_ \- And didn’t earn a single dime.

Which was more or less likely to happen, if she couldn’t get into his good graces. _Parasites have no place in Rapture_ , as Andrew Ryan always said. And it _was_ true.

(I’m _not a parasite, for Christ’s sake. I gotta play to eat._ )

She walked straight into the crowd, people chattering and laughing and darting off into all sorts of establishments to be found: A typical night in Fort Frolic, all things considered.

 _A typical night_. And as she checked the time on a clock hanging from one of the posts nearby, she surmised she had enough time to swing by the bar and knock back a drink or two.

* * *

 

Poseidon Plaza was a favorite haunt of hers, especially after performances. Many an hour had been spent looking at records, occasionally heading to the casino to try her luck. But it also was home to one of the Sinclair Spirits branches, and that was where she found herself, pushing the door open.

Inside, the clink of bottles and glasses greeted her, music playing from a jukebox somewhere. She was secretly glad the store was almost empty, aside from several couples sitting in the booths off to the side.

Making her way to the bar, she put her case on the stool beside her, waited patiently for the bartender to look up from wiping the glasses.

“Sundance.” Straight teeth, eyes a familiar grey. “Thought you’re still supposed to be onstage, wowing the crowd.”

“My strings snapped. In front of _everyone_ , Vince,” she said, and was pleased to hear that her voice _didn’t_ rise to a whine.

He had turned away from her to take one of the bottles off the shelves behind him. There was no need to ask for a drink for the years had put them in a sort of routine: Them at the bar every other day, drinking and dredging up gossip from the city at the bottom of the ocean.

But at her words, he turned back, a peculiar sort of expression dancing across his face.

“And what did Cohen say about that?” Vince asked, and she shrugged.

“The same thing he tells _everyone_ who screws up- Told me to fuck off till he comes callin’. Tried to hit me too, but I was-“

“ _What_ did you say?”

A bottle was set down in front of her, hard. Harder than she would’ve liked. It was a mistake, she realized, to tell Vince this. He didn’t know about the norms behind the curtains, the backstage badlands where the artists fought and tussled, and it was _normal_ , wasn’t it?

(One of the singers had told her you weren’t _really_ part of Fort Frolic until Cohen took a swing or two at you.)

“It’s nothin’,” Sundance said, hurriedly, trying to swat the topic aside. “I’m fine, it probably won’t happen again-“

Vince’s eyes were narrowed. His voice had dropped low so as to not disturb his other customers. “He tried to hit you.”

“It happens _all the time_ to everyone. Ain’t a big fuss to be made.”

She felt a brief flare of panic, captured it and tried to press it down. If Vince did anything rash, _she_ would be the one paying for it.

Vince cast a look round the room, and she watched him bend down to get something from behind the counter. She shouldn’t have told him, in hindsight. A part of her _knew_ his reaction, but it was such a norm to her, it felt like nothing _too_ consequential.

He straightened up and put a pistol beside the bottle.

She stared at it for a moment or two. Dragged her gaze up to meet his.

“If he touches you again, you shoot him.”

“ _Vince!_ ” she shouted, and then stopped when she realized the other patrons were staring at her outburst. Waited until they had gone back to minding their own business before continuing. “That man _pays_ me. If I shoot him, who the hell is goin’ to fill my pocket? Who the hell’s goin’ to let me play in Fleet Hall?”

 _No one_ , the correct answer would be. As much as some people loathed Cohen and his attitude, there was no denying his sweet moods were the high points of their days and there was no denying that the Fort was his domain- To give command to anyone else would be sacrilege of the highest degree.

Shook her head, pushed the gun towards him, but he put a hand on her wrist.

“Keep it,” he said. “Just in case.”

“No, I don’t _want_ to-“

“’Dance. Just take it.”

Huffed a sigh, snatched the pistol up and jammed it in the waistband of her trousers. Not the safest place, but she wouldn’t risk putting it into her violin case. Pulling her shirt over it, Sundance glared at him.

“Happy?” she demanded, and he tilted his head.

“A little.”

Rolled her eyes. “Pour me a damn drink, Montgomery. And walk me home- I ain’t feelin’ like going myself.”

He smiled then, the first real smile in their day’s interaction. She sat there and momentarily closed her eyes, listening to the record playing, trying not to feel the cold gun against her skin, trying to enjoy her evening.


	2. Chapter 2

She had to wait until Vince’s shift was over, then until his replacement came, before they could actually _leave_ Fort Frolic. He deigned to mention the gun again, and she decided it was best to leave it be: The night had turned sweet after their argument, the slow dawn even more so.

They lined up to catch the bathyspheres out, Sundance swinging her case slightly while Vince spoke of things he’d heard here and there, things gleaned from his position behind the bar.

Only half-listening, until it was their turn, until they were pressed side by side with all the other folks heading home.

“What did you say?” Sundance asked, glancing at Vince.

“The diver- You know, _Johnny Topside._ Haven’t you been reading the papers?”

Of course she had. The name of the surface-dweller was on everyone’s lips, the paparazzi eager to get his picture and his story. Rapture wasn’t supposed to be found easily. But this mere man did. Alone, or so his story went.

(And that meant _trouble_ , didn’t it? But that was none of her business. No, Sundance had no intention of letting herself dig her own grave, thank you very much.)

“What about him?”

His voice lowered, head nearing hers: The bathysphere was crowded, mostly with late-night revelers, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“I saw them take him away,” he whispered, and Sundance blinked at him.

“Saw who take him away?”

“Ryan’s men. They had him all cuffed up, beaten till he couldn’t get a damn word out of his mouth.” A pause as the bathysphere shuddered.

She hadn’t seen this Topside fellow with her own eyes, merely grainy pictures on the papers. But there seemed no cause to _suspect_ him of anything. Just a man who stumbled on something not many people should have stumbled on, hailed as a celebrity of some kind.

She made a show of glancing out the window at the dark waters beyond, actually looking to see if anyone was eavesdropping. In a city of glass, there were no secrets- And if there were, they were hidden _extremely_ well.

“Vince,” she said, quietly. “Don’t get yourself involved, y’hear me?”

“It’s, uh, a little late for that,” Vince said. When she raised a hand to hit his shoulder, he blocked it easily. “Hey, c’mon! Let me finish my story.”

Sundance glared at him, but let him continue. There was a heavy feeling creeping up on her, the kind that made her feel a little on the edge.

“Anyways, those goons saw me. Came over and told me to keep my trap shut or they’d send someone.”

“And this _ain’t_ keepin’ your stupid mouth shut!”

She hit him again, eyes narrowing. As if her deal with Cohen was bad- What if they were _surrounded_ by Ryan’s boys, all listening in, watching for the first sign of trouble? In a bathysphere, there was no room to swing a cat.

“Wait.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You’re tellin’ me so we’ll _both_ be under watch, isn’t it? You want us _both_ to be thrown out and drowned, don’t you?”

“’Dance, I’m telling you in case I go missing.”

“Go missin’ for tellin’ me!”

She was shouting now. This realization didn’t dawn on her until she heard the lull that had filled the bathysphere, aware of everyone looking at her. Flushed, ducked her head, arms folding of their own accord.

“Sorry,” she heard Vince saying. “The missus is kinda mad at me.”

It was met with a chorus of laughter, before the usual conversation struck up to fill the space. She didn’t thank him when she looked back at him. But she did decide to speak quietly.

“Fine. Okay, I get it,” she said. “But don’t think of doin’ anything stupid. I ain’t gonna save you if they decide to drown you.”

He smiled as the bathysphere juddered to a halt at their station. “Cross my heart.”

Somehow, she wasn’t reassured.

* * *

 

Artemis Suites wasn’t exactly what Sundance would have liked to call ‘ _classy living_ ’- No, unlike Olympus Heights, it was crammed with the folks who made up the base of Rapture’s society, all squeezed into apartment after apartment with walls too thin to _really_ be useful.

But it was a hell lot better than _some_ places, so she kept her mouth shut about it. Most of the time, anyways.

They walked in relative silence, the only sound between them the steady rhythm of the tiles under their shoes. Sundance’s right hand held her violin case firm, left arm wrapped around Vince’s right.

Walked until they reached the elevator, taking it up to the fourteenth floor. Doors opened, and they squeezed their way out into the corridor. It wasn’t long before they reached the apartment she lived in, numberplate faded and cracked.

“If y’see my parents,” she said, fumbling one-handedly with the door. “Tell them I’m okay. I’ll visit tomorrow.”

“You better. The last time you hung them out to dry, your mother scolded me for fifteen whole minutes for not looking out for you.”

“How was I supposed to know I was havin’ an impromptu up at Fleet, huh?”

“A _message_ would’ve been swell-“

_Aha!_ The door slid open, and she turned to pull a face at Vince. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll turn up, don’t you be fussin’.”

“I’m counting on you.”

She closed the door as soon as the last word left his mouth. Did up the bolts (a security measure she and her housemates had decided to invest in), turned around to find a woman in her nightclothes sitting on the sofa, smoking a cigarette.

“Hey, hon,” the woman said, taking a drag. “Was that Montgomery I heard?”

“Deenah, you know ain’t no other fella’s going to walk me home.”

The girls knew Vince, knew the only other person to come knocking at Sundance’s expense was either him or a messenger from Cohen in terms of business. She didn’t have too many friends outside the circle of Fort Frolic, but then again, close to _everyone_ knew each other in some way there.

Deenah, on the other hand, worked for Ryan Industries. Sundance wasn’t quite sure _which_ sector she worked in or _what_ she did, despite all the years staying under the same roof, but she had the steadiest job, so there was that.

“You never know.”

Sundance laughed, but it was a sad sound, like something had gotten caught in the back of her throat and she was trying to gag it up. “Uh- _huh_. Sure. Well, if anyone _else_ comes a-callin’, you can tell ‘em kindly to fuck off ‘cause I ain’t in the mood.”

“Sure thing, sugar,” Deenah said, as Sundance walked pass her to the sleeping area.

Placing her violin case beside her mattress, she flung herself face down, wincing when she felt something stab her in the ribs.

_The gun._

Realization as she pulled it from the band of her trousers, holding it up to the weak light.

_Just in case,_ Vince had said.

_Fine._

Opened her case and put the firearm inside, making sure it wouldn’t scratch her instrument in any way.

_Just in case._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this chapter for almost a month! It was pretty hard to get it to sound just right- Even now, sounds a little strange. But enjoy!

Cohen didn’t call. Or send word. Or anything, for about two long weeks, days stretching ahead like a purgatory of sorts.

Sundance waited. She could wait all damn _year_ , as long as she could get back up on stage and keep the audience enraptured, for the lack of a better word. She waited and waited, and when she got slightly _bored_ of waiting, she decided to fill in her time better than hanging around the record shop waiting for them to restring her bow, looking over the shopkeeper’s shoulder until she was thrown out.

She visited her parents- Her mother pinched her cheeks, told her she wasn’t eating enough, told her that she was brewing tea and to sit, wait a moment, just let her fill an empty stomach.

“I keep telling that boy to look after you,” her mother called from the kitchen. “ _Yes, ma'am,_ he says, _I do, ma’am_. But every time you turn up, I see you thinner and thinner!”

“Mamma,” Sundance groaned. “Leave Vince alone. He don’t know nothin’ about takin’ care of people- He can’t even take care of himself.”

“And you can?”

“… Better than most people.”

She turned her attention away from her mother’s fussing, pulling out a chair to sit with her father at the dining table. Papers overflowed the tabletop, all numbers and figures and the stamp of Rapture’s bank on it. His pipe was clamped between his teeth, but when he addressed her, he took the liberty to remove it temporarily.

“Your mamma still thinks you’re that girl with bows in her hair we brought down here.”

Smiled at the memory, shook her head. “I ain’t wearin’ bows no more, see?”

“Of course you aren’t. But she’s your mother. Worryin’ about you is in her nature.”

“So _you_ don’t worry,” she said, and flicked some of the papers, idly. “Seein’ as you’re all tied up with bein’ a bankman.”

“Banker,” he corrected. No more was said on the subject: Her father put his pipe back in his mouth, looked down at his papers. She sat there, watching him for a while, until her mother called her from the kitchen.

Went to the small kitchen, leaning against the fridge while her mother bustled around, opening cabinets and bringing out small tins, putting the tins back, tutting at certain food items.

“You know,” her mother said, switching English for her native Chinese. “There’ve been people on our floor. Don’t live here.”

“Maybe they’re just visiting,” Sundance suggested, taking cue to switch languages as well. Her father’s Chinese was rudimentary at best, mostly relating to banking issues and simple commands.

(Her mother had _tried_ to teach him, when they were still sweethearts giggling under trees and sharing study notes. But the man took to it like a chicken to flight: Enough to get off the ground, but not enough to touch the sky.)

“… I don’t know- They walk up, down, up, down, look at the door numbers.”

She frowned, making a mental reminder to ask Vince to fill her in- She hadn’t seen him too often, only going to the Fort one or twice, not wanting to be noticed and chased out by Cohen if he still was in a foul mood.

“Stay away from them if they come back.”

“Of course.” Her mother wiped her hands on her shirt, turned to Sundance. “Here, take this.”

She held out a paper bag full of little tins: Peaches, cheese, crackers, even olives, among other things. There was a flask of what Sundance knew was homebrewed herbal tea, warm and pleasant to touch.

“You eat, okay?” her mother said, as Sundance took the bag from her. “Take care of yourself. Visit more, like a good girl.”

She gave her mother her best smile, took both her hands in her free one. They were calloused, a testament to years and years of hard work and determination. She wondered if her mother missed that life, up on the surface.

(Her mother’s uniform was always neatly ironed. She’d watch her father drive her to the hospital, waving goodbye from their front door. _So long ago. A lifetime ago._ )

“I will,” she said. “If you need anythin’, just come down to get me. One of the girls will help you if I ain’t there.”

She said her goodbyes, dropped the food off at her apartment before deciding to swing by Fort Frolic. She reckoned she hadn’t a fresh drink in a long time, and the pleasure of good company.

* * *

 

She was halfway to the bar when Vince came round the counter to meet her. He was smiling, eyes sparkling, the whole shebang, and she grinned back, picking up the pace.

“How’s my favorite girl?” he asked, sweeping her into a hug. “You won’t believe how many nights I’ve spent waiting here like some poor sap who got stood up.”

“You _work_ here, darling.” She put her head against his chest, sighed. “We’ve got a lot to talk ‘bout. An’ I don’t know where to start.”

“You can start by listening _very_ carefully to me, ‘Dance. For both our sake’s.”

His change in tone made her raise her head. She was about to protest, to frown and shove at him, when he kissed the top of her head and began to speak so quietly she had to strain to hear.

“There are two men in the booth off to your left. They’ve been shadowing me for weeks. Now laugh and say something that _isn’t_ conspicuous.”

For a moment, she stilled. Just a brief moment, before common sense kicked in and she gave a delighted squeal, shaking her head.

“Oh, my mamma said somethin’ mighty similar.” She tiptoed, placing her mouth next to his ear. “Says your floor’s bein’ watched. Vince, you tell me right this goddamn instant you ain’t bein’ dragged into something bad.”

Dropped back down to her feet, brushing his hands away. A smile on her face, careful not to look for the apparent shadowers, moving instead towards the bar. She needed a drink- That was _one_ thing she wasn’t making up in their charade.

 _Shit._ This was bad. She hadn’t thought about their conversation in the bathysphere since that day, but it was flooding back to her, and with it came the sense of inexplicable dread. _Shit, shit, shit-_

 _Calm down._ Took a deep breath as she sat in her usual place at the bar. Vince followed, and she watched him make her drink, suddenly uncomfortably aware that the pistol was digging into her thigh.

( _Safety_ , she had reminded herself. No holster, but she’d stolen one of Valerie’s ribbons and tied the weapon tight around her leg beneath her skirt. Now that she thought about it, wasn’t _exactly_ the smartest idea.)

“Aren’t you goin’ to finish your story?” she asked, leaning forward, both elbows on the counter.

He put her drink down in front of her. She barely caught the minute shake of a head he gave her. “Maybe later.”

_Somewhere we aren’t being watched maybe._

Sundance raised her glass to her lips and drank. And kept drinking, because there wasn’t anything she _could_ say without attracting any unwanted attention.

It was only when her glass was near-empty and the doors opened behind them that she took the liberty to put down her glass.

“Montgomery!” the newcomer called out. “I’ve got the perfect solution to all your problems. Now pour me a drink and we’ll settle this smooth and fast.”

Sundance looked at Vince. He smiled, nodded, and when he caught her eye, she could see momentary panic. Which wasn’t good, all things widely considered. But she smiled back at him. Buried her own panic as she picked up her drink again.

“Sure thing, Mr. Sinclair. Your usual?”

“You bet, sport.”

Vince turned away and Sundance waited until Augustus Sinclair- _the_ Sinclair, whose name was on this establishment, who probably signed every one of Vince’s checks- had taken a seat at the bar. On her left. Which _might_ give her a view of the two goons.

So she pretended to glance at him, eyes momentarily darting off to the booths. Sundance barely had time to take it in: The dark jackets, the glasses still untouched on the table. But they were there.

(The question was: _For how long?_ )

A voice, as she looked down at her own glass, pulling her attention back to the left.

“You must be Miss Kole.”

Blinked. Looked at Sinclair. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of bein’ formally introduced, Mr. Sinclair.”

“I think it’s a bit late to start over, so let’s just start from here. Does that sound swell?”

He was smiling- She’d seen smiles like that all around Fort Frolic. _Sharks_ , Marie used to giggle, when all four of them were at home, getting drunk on whatever liquor there was in the kitchen. _They’re all sharks and we’re in this itty bitty fishbowl._

“Sounds more than swell.” A pause, a moment of suspicion. “Did Vince tell you my name?”

Sinclair’s smile seemed to deepen. “Montgomery thinks you’re the bee’s knees, if you pardon the expression.”

“Ain’t that sweet of him.” She laughed, then tugged Vince’s sleeve when he set down Sinclair’s drink between them. “Is what Mr. Sinclair here tellin’ me true?”

“Whenever have I lied to you, ‘Dance?”

 _Never_ , she thought, quietly. _Never, ever. Not you._

“What brings you to Frolic? Here to see some sweet gal up at Eve’s? Watch a performance? Or just browsin’?”

“I’m here to talk to Montgomery. In private, if your pretty little ears don’t mind.”

The bad news alarms had never rang louder in her head. Sundance felt her smile start to drip from her face, eyebrows knitting together. Words, already forming in her mouth, before Vince touched her shoulder and spoke, softly.

“Why don’t you go see if your violin’s ready to be picked up? I’ll whip up a fresh drink for you meanwhile.”

She didn’t want to leave. What if the thugs jumped him? What if Sinclair slit his throat there and then? What if whatever the hell happened to Johnny Topside happened to Vincent goddamn Montgomery and then subsequently to her?

So she put on her best smile, slid her hand across the counter until it found Sinclair’s.

“Come now, Mr. Sinclair- Whatever you gotta say to him, you can say it in front of me. Swear I won’t tattle.”

He looked at her without speaking. She felt Vince’s grip on her arm tighten for but a moment, didn’t try to shake him off. Smiled a shark smile.

“Go on, ‘Dance, scram-“

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, Miss Kole.”

 “Call me Sundance.” Kept on smiling that smile, her hand still on his.

“Then I must suggest you call me Augustus.”

“Sinclair.”

Vince cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mr. Sinclair, but I was certain we had, uh, _business_ to discuss. I rather we wrap it up now.”

Sinclair’s gaze flicked away from Sundance, and she pulled her hand back, resisting the urge to unceremoniously wipe it on her skirt. It was a struggle not to let herself frown, a struggle just to sit still with that smile and listen to every word. But Vince was behind her. And she had a pistol tied to her right leg.

And if anything went wrong, maybe, just _maybe_ , they’d be alright.

“My _solution_ ,” Sinclair said, leaning forward, voice lowering. “Simple: You stop working here and start working at a little branch I like to call Sinclair Solutions.”

“…. What exactly does that branch do?” Vince asked.

“Let’s call it solving rather _delicate_ business problems, shall we? All you got to do is follow my lead- I ain’t going to leave you floundering without a rope now, am I?”

“Mr. Sinclair, all I know how to do is make drinks and small talk. Solving business problems isn’t my forte.”

“We’re talking about something beneficial for all parties, Montgomery: Housing, a proper resume, daily commute, _most_ expenses paid by the company. _And_ a salary that is probably more than you’re already getting here.”

“Look,” Vince started, and then shook his head. “’Dance, just go. Please, go get your violin. I need to talk to Mr. Sinclair alone.”

She glanced at him. There was no merriment in his gaze, nothing but cold determination, and she took it as a sign. So she stood, flashed Sinclair an almost apologetic smile. Took her sweet time to walk out of the bar.

 _It’s alright- He can handle himself._ He’d been handling himself before they’d even met and then some. _Why so worried, hm?_

As requested, she went straight to the record shop, where the man behind the counter gave her instrument back to her in exchange for crumpled dollar bills she’d haphazardly jammed into her purse.

It soothed her just to think of the melodies she’d been itching to play, to try and mimic, and maybe even write some of her own. _Like Culpepper_ , she thought, grinning as she made her way back to her original location.

“Sundance!” someone called, and she turned to see Valerie running up to her. There was a big smile on the dancer’s face, and an even bigger bouquet of flowers in her arms. “Knew you couldn’t stay away from the Fort for that long. And good thing, too.”

“Ain’t no place like home,” she said, then motioned to the flowers. “Special admirer?”

“They’re yours, actually. A certain Mr. Cohen sends his regards.”

She stared at Valerie. “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?”

“Come on, look, he even put a little note in it.”

It was handed to her as she spoke, and Sundance held it up to see, squinting in the neon flares of signs all around them.

 _Sunday. 10.00 p.m. You’ll be accompanying the dancers. I’ll overlook this but once- Let this be a reminder to you should you ever_ forget _how important caring for your violin is._

She recognized Cohen’s elegant script, then looked from the card to the bouquet then back to the card again. A smile broke out across her face- So much smiling, she figured she’d pay for that in tears someday.

She didn’t _care_ how brusque the ending lines of the missive sounded. It was an invitation. It was a second chance that had come sooner than expected, and there was no way in _hell_ she was going to pass this up.

“You’ll be playing again!” Valerie squealed, as Sundance took the bouquet in her free hand. “Aren’t you excited?”

Of course she was. _More_ than excited, like something in her chest had grown wings and taken flight, taken her high into the air. Performing was one thing. In front of people? Showing the people of Rapture her prowess? Quite another- And a thing she’d relish, at that.

Thanking Valerie, Sundance picked up the pace, humming softly as she walked. Already her head was filling with melodies and the best way to translate that into the drawing of her bow across strings. So enraptured was she that she practically _bounced_ towards the bar, momentarily forgetting everything else.

“Guess who’s goin’ to be back in Fleet Hall?” she crowed, flinging herself down on the stool. “The best goddamn violinist in Rapture, that’s who!”

“I think,” Sinclair said, smiling at her. “I think a toast would be in order, hey, Montgomery? Looks to me like the both o’ you have good news.”

She shot a look at Vince, raising an eyebrow. His gaze looked almost unfocused, and he jerked when she tentatively touched his hand.

“Ah, right, right. A toast. Would you care to do the honors, Mr. Sinclair?”

“That I would.”

Her glass had been full of ice when she’d left. Now the ice had melted, leaving her with a glass of cold water that was alcohol in flavor. Vince raised a bottle, Sinclair his own glass.

“A toast- To Montgomery and his bright future at Sinclair Solutions; to Miss Kole and her performances; and to Rapture! May it ever stay beautiful and wondrous.”

The clink of their glasses would stay in her dreams for many, _many_ nights to come.


	4. Chapter 4

“Thanks for letting me stay here overnight.”

“It’s fine- Isn’t your first time, probably won’t be your last. Besides, I don’t want those spooks knowing where you live. It’s bad enough they’re _here_.”

Vince’s apartment. She was watching the fish swim idly outside the window, curtains half drawn. Next door, an argument- Raised voices, the sound of things breaking, an occasional wordless scream. Of rage or fear, she couldn’t tell.

“… Why did you agree to work for Solutions? Lord knows what he’ll have you do. Might be bad. Might be murderin’ people.”

“He told me if I agreed, he’d talk to Ryan. Tell him to lay off the thugs and vouch for my discretion on, well, the whole Topside issue.”

“And you said _yes_.”

“’Dance, what would you want me to do?”

Getting up from the chair by the window, she moved to the bed, flinging herself down beside him.

“I don’t know. Anythin’ _but_ agree to work in such a close proximity with a shark like Sinclair.”

“He likes your smile, you know? Told me as much.”

Sundance pulled a face, smacked Vince with her right hand. “Hush. We ain’t done talkin’ about what you got yourself into, boy.”

“Don’t you _boy_ me. I’m older than you, don’t you-“

“Stop changing the subject, Vincent.”

As far as she understood, Sinclair had discussed with Vince the terms of his new employment in earshot of Ryan’s spies. Which could’ve been a warning for them as much as Vince. Either way, the two men had still followed them back to Vince’s apartment. And for all Sundance knew, they were listening at the door or through the air vents.

“I don’t know why you’re fussing so much,” he said, gently. “It’ll be alright. You’ll still be able to come bother me whenever it so pleases you.”

“I ain’t worried about that and you know it.”

“You’re worried they’ll take me away.”

Sundance turned her head to look at him. In the dark, she could barely make out his features. “Of course I’m worried, you fuckin’ idiot. If they throw you into the sea, I’m the only one who’s gonna try an’ rescue you.”

“You do know I have other friends, right?”

“… Try tellin’ me that when push comes to shove. They’ll disappear faster than that Topside fella.”

Vince laughed, and she shook her head, disgustedly.

“Fine,” she said, folding her arms. “But promise me you’ll be careful, will ya?”

“Promise.” Solemn, one-word answer. It would have been a much meaningful moment if something heavy hadn’t hit the wall in the apartment next door, a scream of anger barely veiled by the thin walls.

Sundance sighed. “Alright. You remember this promise next time you do somethin’ downright stupid.”

“I will.”

_No_ , she thought, as Vince bid her goodnight and she tried to drift off the sleep, pulling his arm over her. _No, you won’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a real short update! working on a longer one, promise. thanks for reading it this far, since the main proceedings are a slope upwards heh


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